


(when sadness was the sea) you were the one who taught me how to swim

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I feel weird writing to you, but everyone said that I should.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(when sadness was the sea) you were the one who taught me how to swim

  
after all this time, it still seems to me like straight and fast is the only way out -- but i chose the labyrinth. the labyrinth blows, but i chose it.  
\-- _looking for alaska_ , john green

 

 

 

January 4th, 2014  
London

 

Dear Effy,

I feel weird writing to you, but everyone said that I should. Panda and some of the others came round a few days ago for New Year's, and -- probably because everyone was well off their tits -- the conversation somehow turned to you. Pandora said that she'd visited you at Christmas, which I guess is one of those rare days when you're allowed to have visitors without them being family. At least in your case. I think. And like, she said that she's been writing you loads of letters. Of course then Emily had to butt right in and ask why _I_ hadn't sent you any. And Naomi, the twat, had to go on about how we were friends and it'd be nice. Not like _she's_ writing any letters (that I know of).

Anyway, I'm absolutely rubbish at this sort of thing, but I figured I may as well give it a go. This being a new year and all. I'll just stick it on to the end of my resolutions list.

I'd ask you how you are, but Panda also said that you don't really reply to letters. Like, at all. I can't say I'm surprised. I mean, it's not like you ever talked that much anyway, I don't know why you'd suddenly be gagging to write us novels. Or whatever. I suppose I _could_ ask about you, even though you wouldn't let me know. It feels strange not asking that sort of thing. That's like, one of the things you always say when you write a letter, innit? Not like I've got much experience to go on; that's Emily's sort of thing, not mine. But you can't use email, I don't think, so an actual letter will just have to do. At least my handwriting is decent enough.

So. I don't really know what else to say. I don't really see the point in babbling on about my life. You probably don't want to hear about it anyway. Or read about it. Or whatever. To be honest, there's not much happening. Uni, actually. I took a gap year like Emily did, though I didn't go travelling -- not with her, anyway. Not like I would want to be around her and Naomi, watching them be all gay together. Gross. They've never given a fuck about anyone else; it's not like everyone wants to see them being all ... _them_.

Anyway, this letter is almost two pages long right now, and that's about enough long for me. I should say that I'll hope to hear from you soon, but I know I won't, so.

So, cheers.

Katie xx

 

;;

 

January 25th, 2014  
London

 

Dear Effy,

Right, so like, I've given it some thought. And I decided that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you know, to write every now and then. I suppose I could even make it a weekly thing or something like that. Well, maybe just every two weeks, or maybe even just every month. 1) I don't know if I'd be able to think of enough things to write to you every day, and, 2) I don't think I'd even _remember_ to write every week. I can't even promise to write every _month_ , really, who knows what could come up. I could get a boyfriend, for starters. Hopefully someone lush who doesn't play footie or isn't gross like Cook.

Also, there's another thing, which is, 3) you're probably not even going to write back, so I don't see why I should even bother writing to you in the first place, and, 4) who the hell even knows if you're going to even _read_ my letters, let alone care what I have to say in them. So really, when you look at things, there really isn't any sense in my writing letters to you. But, on the whole, when you pull like, way back and look a things from afar, I do think there's a lovely sort thing about it. Like I said, I've never written letters to people before, that's Ems' sort of thing. And you probably don't have much to do anyway, so.

So I was thinking, right, last night when I was sat in my garden having a smoke, leafing through a back issue of _Heat_ (and really, I don't know if you can read gossip mags in a mental hospital, but life has been well boring lately, even for celebrities, you're not missing much) and I thought about how we hadn't seen each other in nearly three years. Well, I haven't _visited_ you in nearly three years, I guess is what I should say. And it's been even longer since ... Well, you know. It's kind of bollocks, really. I don't know what happened to our youth.

I sound like Naomi, which is annoying. She's always going on like we're so old, as if we all hadn't just turned 21 last year. Ridiculous. But it is kind of strange though. It's one of those things, right, where you look back and you think, how did I get here? How did _we_ get here? It's clichéd, obviously, but I suppose there's always some sort of meaning in clichés, isn't there. I guess that's the whole point.

Um. Yes. So I'm looking over this letter thus far and I see that I've just talked about a whole lot of nothing. That probably won't surprise you, and you'll probably even have a laugh about it, so fuck you, in advance. Panda says hello, though I know she's been talking to you, so I don't even know why I have to pass along the message. Emily and Naomi _didn't_ ask me to say anything from them, but I know they'll probably want me to say hello for them anyway.

Cook's here now for dinner, and I don't want him reading over my shoulder while I write, so --

Cheers,

Katie xx

 

;;

 

 _undated_  
London

 

Effy,

Remember that time, at Cook's 17th birthday party, where he ate that whole bloody cake and then we went to that shit boat-party? I just remembered it, oddly enough. How we each did a line of that coke Cook had. The stuff was bloody rubbish, it didn't even give me a proper high. Typical. And we grabbed Panda and you said, _Come on, let's go dancing_. Of course an hour later it all went straight to hell, but for a while it was pretty nice. I think. I don't know if I'm remembering it properly or not. JJ said that sometimes when you can't remember something, your brain makes up a memory to replace the one you've lost. Which kind of makes me wonder if any of my memories are real, you know? I mean, who knows how many of them are made up. You'd never really know, that's the thing.

Mental.

I wonder what would have happened if I'd gone off with you and Pandora instead of heading off towards home by myself. I don't remember why I did that. Oh, yes, Emily had left early and I wanted to see if she was home (instead of off with Naomi, I mean). And Danny had called, the tosser. I think I actually went over to his place, actually. Fucked him right through the mattress. Don't know why. Not even sure.

Okay, I'm a bit pissed right now. You could probably tell. My writing's shit. Cook and Naomi came over the other day and we just sat around drinking. Cook brought spliff, too. But it's so bloody cold here, I can't sleep. Not properly, anyway. When Emily and I were little, if it was cold, I'd climb into bed beside her and we'd like, cuddle. That was nice. 'Course, that was before we were 15, before everything changed entirely. Before 13 too, I think. That was when I started to notice boys, like, for real, and Emily ... Well, she didn't. You'd probably have something clever to say about that, wouldn't you?

Katie

 

;;

 

February 14th, 2014  
London

 

Dear Effy,

Happy Valentine's Day. I'm spending it alone. Big fucking surprise there.

You know, at one point in time, I would have actually felt like, _offended_ that there wasn't someone who wanted to take me out and buy me nice things. There was a point in time when I actually cared about this sort of stuff. Or the attention, anyway, which is kind of the same thing. Naomi, for all her talk of this being a stupid consumer holiday pushed upon us by the media and greedy corporations, is actually out with my sister. Having a good time, probably. Romantic dinner and all that. Sod the both of them, really.

Emily asked if I wanted to come over this evening to spend some time with them.

"Why?" I asked her, and of course she had to call me when I was right in the middle of doing my nails. I hate having to juggle the brush and varnish and phone all at once. I ended up just jabbing my knuckle into the button to put her on speakerphone. "It's Valentine's Day. Do you really think I want to see you and Naomi being all gay with each other?"

Emily'd sighed one of those sighs that means she thinks I'm being ridiculous. "Oh, fuck off," I told her, holding out my hand and examining my nails before blowing on them gently. They were this really nice red colour, you would have probably liked it. Blood Red was what it said in the label, but I think it was a little darker. More like crimson than anything else.

"Mum's going to ask about you, you know," Emily said, after a minute. "I think she's worried."

About what, I'd asked her. Emily said that mum thought it was strange that I hadn't had a boyfriend in so long. Well, Ems and I _both_ know the reasoning behind that; I always seem to pick the most rubbish guys to be with. And I want to sort of wait now, you know? I thought Sam -- you remember him, yeah? -- was nice, when we first got together. Turned out he was a dicksplash like the rest of them. So fucking typical.

I don't know what else to say, other than more complaining. Not like you mind, probably, I don't think, but whatever. I feel retarded complaining about something I don't even care about.

(Since it's Valentine's Day and all) Love,

Katie xx

 

;;

 

March 5th, 2014  
London

 

Dear Effy,

Is it snowing in Bristol? It's snowing here. Like, a lot. I have this strange urge to go outside in the garden, throw myself down in the snow, and make a snow angel. I haven't done that since I was ... Well, I don't know since when exactly. Since I was young. The good thing about having a sister is that you have someone to pull you up once you're done. I always hated making them by myself, because then you have to get yourself up, and inevitably you end up with a footprint or handprint or both in the thing you've just spent time creating.

Having a fucked up snow angel is just retarded, I think. Like, what's the point, if it's not going to look perfect.

I remember when we were sitting by the pier, after that disastrous hen party I had to throw. Yeah? You taught me how to smoke -- bloody felt me up in the process, perv. I smoke regularly now, thanks to you. Fuck you, when I die of cancer, it's going to be entirely your fault.

Anyway, you said how nothing's ever perfect. I thought about that, the other day, when I was thinking about making a snow angel. I didn't, because like, some things _can_ be perfect, you know? Not always, but there are some things you can choose to have them be perfectly. Like, me not going outside has resulted in a perfectly powder white garden, none of the snow disturbed at all. I traded one perfect thing for another. That seems fair enough.

I don't remember if we're allowed to talk about -- well, the _thing_. I feel strange saying it out loud. You know what I mean. You'd better not go off the rails or anything, now that I've brought it up. But it feels odd to not say anything about it. I feel like I'm just tip-toeing around the subject. And I hate having to do that. I did that with Emily for all of fucking like, five years, almost. I'm done with pretending that everything is fine.

You know? You'd probably know better than anyone else, actually, seeing as you _always_ noticed the cracks in other people. That was like, your thing. I dunno how you did it. It was like, really annoying, right, the way you'd just look at people. The way you'd look at _me_. As if to say, Your life is so ordinary.

Fuckin' hated that, babes. It's probably the one thing I don't miss about you, you know? Well, there's probably loads more about you I don't miss, but I can't think of them right now. Just _you_ , probably. You and your strange silences. I don't know how you and Pandora became friends, I really don't. It's probably that whole opposites attract shit, innit? Fuck's sake.

Right, well. I need a bath. Em's due over in a bit.

Katie xx

 

;;

 

April 17th, 2014  
London

 

Effy,

Sorry for the delay. March was crazy, for some completely retarded reason. I don't even know. I just got coursework piled on me, left and right, and then Emily and Naomi had to go and announce that they were planning on getting married in the summer -- or civil partnered, I don't know what they do -- and my mum near had a meltdown about it. As if it wasn't completely obvious that they were going to last forever. It's like she doesn't even see the way they are with each other. It's gross; they're so sappy and romantic. I really can't stand it.

But here I am, writing to you again. Pandora's gone back to the States. Well, she's been back there for a while now, but I forgot to mention it in my last couple of letters. This is her final year, I think. Dunno if she's coming back to England when she's done, but if you ask me, I think she should. I mean, who else can stand to be around you as much as she can? Did. When you get out, you're going to need someone who can just babble on senselessly, to fill those awkward silences that you seem so intent on creating.

I mean, babes, you're okay and all, but I need someone who will actually talk back. So, sorry. Or not. It depends on if you care or not, I guess. So sorry if you do care, but I'm not sorry if you don't.

Despite it all, I miss your silences sometimes. That's so odd, missing something that's by definition, the absence of something. I mean, it wasn't always bad. I remember once, us sitting in the park, Pandora off by the pond talking to the ducks or some shit, and we were just sat there, passing a fag back and forth. This was after Emily knocked Naomi into the pool and the whole party went to shit. Like, the day after.

You just exhaled a stream of smoke and said, "You all right, Katie?"

And I just said, "Yeah, cool," and that was that.

But it was nice. Because like, you _got_ it, you know? You understood that I didn't want to talk things through. I didn't want to sit and have a cry about it. I just wanted, in that moment, to sit there and smoke. That was it. And you got that. That's what I miss, you know? That we could just like, _be_. Without the words. Most of the time I sort of hated you, because of it. But there were those few moments where I actually appreciated you for being how you were.

Personally, I don't really understand it, but maybe you will.

I hope -- without any expectation of a response -- that you're doing well. Sometimes I've thought about nipping 'round to your mum's house, you know, like, every so often when I'm at home visiting James and my parents. I've never gotten around to it, though. Sorry.

Katie xx

 

;;

 

May 20th, 2014  
London

 

Effy,

I honestly don't know what to say. Nothing interesting has been going on. Just the usual. Uni. Work. Visits from Emily, when she decides we haven't seen each other enough (which is entirely her fault; I'm always here, she's the one moving about). The odd party here and there, when Cook can entice me to come out (there's always so many tossers at those sort of parties, I just get bored of telling people to fuck off).

Every so often JJ pops round and we go for a coffee and discuss things. Lara's gone, if you're wondering. Right, as if that was going to work out long term. I think Naomi and my sister are the exception when it comes to love and all that. I guess if you love someone long enough, it's a hard to even think about loving someone else. Or so I assume. I mean like, I wouldn't know.

I thought about asking Emily about it, once. Instead of coming out nicely, like how I'd planned it in my head, I just blurted out, "What's it like? Love?"

She'd stared at me for a good whole minute or so, face just the image of disbelief. "What?" she'd finally said, putting down her cup of coffee and leaning forward a bit, as if that would help. "What," she said again. "Don't you know?"

Well, of _course_ I couldn't say that no, I didn't know, not for certain, anyway. But that would have made me sound like a right twat, so instead I just brushed it aside and made it out like I was asking what it was like to be in love with a girl. As if I actually wanted to know. She blathered on for like, twenty minutes afterwards about it, looking all starry-eyed, and I swear I thought my eyes were pop out of their sockets, I was rolling them so hard.

And now I'm getting all stupidly depressed thinking about it, and it's not like I've never been in love, you know? 'Cause I have been. It's just that I've never loved anyone for that long, I don't think. It's easier just to like things, really. Liking's the easy part. You can like something for forever, really. It's hard to love something for as long. Especially if they're a person.

I said I had nothing to talk about, and I really don't, so I'm not going to blather on any longer.

Cheers,

Katie xx

 

;;

 

July 16th, 2014  
Bristol

 

Eff,

If you ever get around to actually picking up a pen and writing someone something, send Emily and Naomi your congratulations, yeah? They've both told me that like, you're the first person who "knew" (whatever that means), and apparently that counts for something special. So you could at least send something to them, you know. Wouldn't be too difficult. Even for you.

Cook says for me to say hi. So consider this me saying it to you. He was at the wedding, as you probably suspected. I didn't think it would be possible (not for Cook, anyway) but he didn't crack any lesbian jokes the whole time. Not a single one, even when he had to get up and give the speech. It was surprisingly lovely. Everyone was there, actually. Well, mostly everyone was there. Except for you.

And Freddie.

Don't get all -- I'm just telling the truth, yeah? So don't be all ... Well, I don't know how you'd be. Maybe you're okay with everything now. Like I've said before, I don't like tiptoeing around things. And it's not like there's any point in not acknowledging the fact that he's dead. Right? I mean, okay, I don't think anyone's really gotten over it -- not _really_ \-- but it's stupid to just pretend like he didn't -- I can't keep ... Ugh. I'm looking over what I've written and I hate sounding like a right bitch. Because I'm not entirely, and you know it. But I just can't keep not mentioning it. Eventually it's going to come up.

I think I've now properly secured the fact that you are never going to respond to my letters.

Katie

 

;;

 

 _undated_  
Bristol

 

Dear Effy,

Sorry for my last letter. I hope you don't -- or you didn't --

Well, I don't know.

Katie

 

;;

 

October 2nd, 2014  
London

 

Effy,

It's been a while. As usual, I don't know how you are. Panda hasn't been to see you in quite some time -- or so I've heard. I don't know why. I hope that everything's okay, you know? Emily and Naomi are finally settling into London, at least for a bit. Like, properly settling. With cats and everything. They've always been so domesticated; it's sickening.

It feels strange to write you again, after so many months. Like I said, I hope you're well.

Katie xx

 

;;

 

October 27th, 2014  
London

 

Effy,

Two letters in one month -- impressive, innit?

I remembered something new the other day. About us, I mean. I remembered us in the car, laughing, on our way to Gobbler's End. Those poachers were fucking mental, remember? And then the whole night that came after it was rubbish as well. But I just remember us, sat us in the front seat, laughing. You at the wheel, the map spread out on my side as I struggled to read it. I remember thinking _finally_ , as if everything had fallen into place at last. Like, everything was a complete mess, but there was some sort of niceness to it that I can't even begin to explain.

I know I'm always saying this, but I'm sure you understand what I'm trying to say better than I do. Like I've said, you have this sort of knack for working people out. Seeing past their fronts or whatever. Bloody annoying, is what it is. And brilliant, too. Definitely.

Anyway, I was just thinking about that. I know it's stupid. Like, it was just that one moment, right? But like, for a second, sitting here, once again I could feel myself flush with that same emotion, from five years prior. Like, it just bubbled up to the surface. And I felt sixteen again. Awkward and unsure and so desperate to be your friend, while furiously hating you at the same time, for reasons that were never even clear to _me_. I probably shouldn't be telling this all to you, but that's where it's nice, see, because you probably already know all of this.

You probably knew it then, too. Bitch.

Sometimes I feel like I can just say anything to you. Well, I always felt like that, but especially now. I've figured out, right, that that's sort of your trick, innit? If you're quiet for long enough, well then _something_ relevant will be said by someone else.

I've half a mind to wonder what it is that you're waiting for me to say. What's relevant, I mean. But then, I think, maybe I kind of don't want to know. It's well irritating. I wish I could just ... well, that's the thing. I don't know.

Maybe I'll hear from you at some point,

Katie xx

 

;;

 

November 8th, 2014  
London

 

Effy,

It's end of the year already, almost; I can hardly believe it. I don't know if it was the coursework, or the wedding, or even just writing to you every month or so, but the year, as usual, has managed to fly by. I'll never understand how one day it can just be like, _today_ , and then suddenly it's _tomorrow_. Like, it's just that time always seems to go so bloody slow, but then, without warning, you suddenly realise that you've managed to let a whole year go by without even knowing it.

I'm actually quite surprised, right, because this is the only New Year's resolution that I've managed to keep. Well, not entirely, I guess, but I've done an all right job with it. I never like, _promised_ to write every month after all, but I can't say that I'm _not_ a bit pleased with myself. I suspect that Emily didn't even think I could keep it up; it's nice to finally prove her wrong about something.

Speaking of Ems, I saw her yesterday. She asked about you. I said I didn't know how you were. It felt like a lie, saying it, but it's true. I don't know why it seemed so strange. Even after a year, you still haven't responded to anything I've sent you, and I mean, like I've said (numerous times) I'm not really expecting you to, but it feels strange, writing to someone who doesn't ever write back. Like, sometimes I think, yeah, maybe -- well, maybe you aren't even getting them in the first place. Maybe it's like I thought it would be, where the nurses are standing around having a laugh over all the nonsense that I've written to you.

Like, "What a silly cow," they'll say, and then remark on how I still have a habit of dotting all of my i-s with hearts. As if that's something I can help, Jesus, I've been doing it for so bloody long now that I can't even remember when I started.

No one's around any more. Cook has fucked off to God knows where. JJ's moved back to Bristol. Wanted to be closer to his mum, he said. Did you know his dad died? Like, that came as a right fucking shock to me when I found out, but I guess they'd known he wasn't right for a while. Anyway. Emily and Naomi, as usual, have their own thing going on. They always have. And I'm always the outsider, when it comes to them. The third wheel. How I used to feel, sometimes, when it was you and Pandora shopping together, and I was off looking at something else.

We were never really that close, were we? I don't think we were. Nostalgia's like, supposed to make you view your past through rose-tinted glasses, or some ridiculous shit like that. I'd like to think that we were close enough. I remember you, at the parade. Freddie, in the crowd, searching. Your hand in mine as I pulled you up. Your fingers clinging onto the front of my costume. Your arm around my shoulders, as I lead you inside. At the time I was thinking, _We've got to get her help_. But now I think, that was the first time we were ever _close_. Like, it was gentle touching. Even if there was desperation behind it. Sadness. Hopelessness.

See what I mean? I don't think about the bad things now, only the good things.

I can't help but wonder, if you see things the same way I did. Do. I wonder if you even remember at all. Probably not. I mean, it's not as though you can ever really forget something's happened, but I guess you can at least try. Push it all down. Think about the good things and pretend like the bad things never happened. I don't know if it would actually work; you'd probably get everything so mixed up that at some point you wouldn't know the difference between the things you wanted to remember and the things you wanted to forget. And then it would all just be shit.

For some reason, you always bring out the stupid, psychological thinking in me. Like, I'm so in touch with myself. It's bloody annoying; I'm glad the only time it ever happens is when I sit down to write you a letter, otherwise I would be a right bore. I'd end up just like my sister, probably.

Or worse: you.

Katie xx

 

;;

 

December 3rd, 2014  
London

 

Effy,

I want to preface this letter by stating that I'm shit faced right now. I just want to clear that up before we get started, 'cause like, my handwriting's probably going to look shit and I'll probably spell a lot of things wrong and I'll probably end up saying all sorts of things that I would never actually say like, out loud, but you pull that trick of yours and suddenly I'm being all insightful and deep and shit like that. I actually hate it, you know. I write something and I think, right, I'm done with that, but it comes creeping back in, later. I mean, what I was thinking about. Like feelings and all that.

It's snowing. I'm sat in the kitchen and every so often I look out the window and get momentarily distracted watching the snow fall. I've always liked how snow seems to light everything up, even at night. It's just with the lights and moon and stars reflecting off of it -- you know? -- it seems extra pretty and bright. I wish you were here right now, almost. I don't know if you'd love it or hate it. Probably both, being the contradiction that you are. Or the contradiction you try so hard to be, anyway.

There I go, as expected. Spouting off nonsense.

Hey, Eff, do you remember that time when we went to Freddie's for a party and ended up outside in Freddie's garden, right next to the shed, when it was still all gross and disorganized. Before it got a good cleaning, I mean. Before you walked in on Freddie and I kissing, I mean. We were just lying there, looking up at the stars, passing back and forth a spliff and a bottle of Jack Daniel's. That was the first time I ever felt at peace. Like, real, actual peace. Just being _there_ with you, and the smoke and drink and stars. And darkness.

"Katie," you'd mumbled, right up against my ear. You looked so out of it. Happy, but out of it.

"Yeah." I'd reached across for the alcohol. I found your hand instead. I went to pull away, but you just laughed and threaded our fingers together. Like it was nothing. Like I wasn't thinking about my stupid lezza sister and how this must feel, holding another girl's hand. Not holding it because you're friends and you're on your way to the shops and you just do it without a second thought. This was different. This was like holding it because you _wanted_ to hold it. Because you could, just this once.

"Right," I said.

I sat up. You sat up with me.

Your eyes looked so much bluer in the starlight. I instantly hated you for it. "Katie," you said again, in a softer voice than before. My name sounded different, when you said it like that. As if maybe I could be softer too. I was wondering, is this real? And thinking maybe that I'd fallen asleep, like, passed out, and this was just all a dream. Or maybe the spliff was making me imagine things and my eyes were hazy from the smoke.

And then you kissed me.

It was quick. Fleeting. Your lips were pressed against mine and away again before I could even take a breath.

I guess you misread the look on my face. "Oh," you'd said, laughing, taking a long swallow of bourbon. "Don't be so _you_ , Katie." I knew it was a joke, then. Like, of course it had to be. It had to be a joke for so many reasons; for as many reasons as to why it _couldn't_ be serious. That wasn't how these sort of things went.

Remember when I wrote to you, earlier this year? How I said there are things your brain makes up? Sometimes I think this is one of those things. Like, maybe I _did_ pass out from being too drunk. Maybe I _did_ get too high and fall asleep. Or maybe I just totally forgot what really happened, since it was so long ago. Or maybe I didn't make it up. I just know that it's the thing I remember best. It's so strange.

Out of all the things I _could_ remember, this is the one thing that's always stuck with me. I don't know why. I wish I did. I wish I didn't. I think you probably know why. I think maybe _I_ know what it means too. But I also think maybe you know why I can't let it come to that. The truth, I mean.

I kind of hate you for it.

Katie

 

;;

 

December 28th, 2014  
London

 

Dear Effy,

The new year is right around the corner and with a new year comes new resolutions. I wish I didn't always feel so obligated to make myself a list, as I never even end up following through with the resolutions I make for myself. Well, except for writing you, I suppose. I've managed to keep that up, surprisingly. Maybe it's just because it's so easy to sit and write. I know you'll never respond. And that's sort of nice in itself; I never have to worry about what you might say to me.

I've decided that my one resolution this year is: Be happy.

When you step back from everything, sort of pull out and squint and take a look at life and how well _you're_ doing, you realize that happiness is what you really want. And like, it makes sense. I could write a list as long as the length of England, naming all of the things that I want. Just 'cause I want them, doesn't mean I need them. But I want them because they'll make me happy (or so I think, but that's a discussion for another day).

So, I figure, why not just put down _happiness_ and fuck all else? That's what we all want. Even you, I think.

I wonder, sometimes, what would make you happy. I can look at a timeline of the years we spent together and sort of pick out things here and there. Take this away, change this, move this around. In my head, I have an image of you happy and what it would take to make you that way. But I don't know if you see things my way. That's how it goes, yeah? Happiness is all perception. Like, if you look at me right now, I'm happy. I mean, I feel all right. I'm not sad.

But I kind of sort of am. Deep down, where I can't always see or even feel it. But I know it's there. It's why I can only ever be honest when I'm drunk. It's why it takes a year of silent letters, written years after the fact, for me to finally say what's on my mind. It isn't necessarily the sort of unhappiness that makes you want to cry. It's a different kind of sadness. It's heavy. It feels like the sky pushing down on you. It sometimes disguises itself as loneliness. Jealousy. I don't know what else. I'm sure there are other words for it.

I think I know which word you'd use. And I'm glad you aren't around to actually say it.

So here's to New Year's, Eff. Here's to the happiness that we wish we had and the sadness we wish we didn't. Here's to making up memories about two girls in college, both of them lost, in different ways. Both of them wishing they could connect with someone, even if it's just for a second. A stolen second, gone away before they even know it, wondering if maybe it's all made up.

My actual resolution is: Don't be me.

Love,

Katie


End file.
